by Helen Lacey
“I’ve always tried to avoid telling you how to live your life or give advice. But I’m going to give you some now. You need to face this, Brant.”
His back tensed. “Face what?”
Grady waved a hand. “This thing with Lucy. You served three tours in the military and much of that time was spent on the front line. You’re a soldier and one of the bravest men I know. So tell me, what is it about loving this woman that scares you so much?”
“I don’t love her,” he said coldly as he kicked the bike into life and drove off.
Twenty minutes later, after circling Lucy’s block for the third time, he pulled up in her driveway and killed the engine. She wasn’t home. He checked his watch. Five-fifteen. She was probably out with her friends at O’Sullivan’s. Or she was working. Or on a date.
Brant climbed off the bike and headed for the small porch. He zipped up his leather jacket and sat in the love seat. And waited.
She arrived home twenty minutes later. Wrapped up in a scarlet woolen coat with fake fur trim, black boots, knitted gloves and a white beanie, she looked like she belonged on a Christmas card. Her cheeks were spotted with color and her lips looked lush and red. And imminently kissable.
She seemed neither surprised nor unsurprised to see him as she sat wordlessly beside him on the love seat. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t dare, despite how much he longed to.
“You didn’t reply to my text messages,” she said quietly.
“I haven’t been doing much of anything this week.”
She nodded fractionally. “I was worried about you.”
He knew she would have been. “I’m sorry. I’ve been keeping to myself...trying to make sense of it all.”
“And did you?” she asked softly.
He half shrugged. “Not so much. I miss him already.”
“I know,” she said, her gentle voice somehow soothing some of the pain he felt. “Are you still seeing Dr. Allenby?”
One thing he could always rely on—Lucy Monero never pulled punches or talked in riddles. She was honest and forthright and demanded the same in return.
“Yes,” he replied. “I saw him Monday and I have another appointment next week.”
“It’s helping?”
“I think so...yes.”
“I’m glad,” she replied and, after a small silence, spoke again. “But what are you really doing here?”
“Grady told me that you were with my uncle when he died,” he said, conscious of the heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. “I just wanted to thank you for that and for your kindness toward him these past few weeks. It’s meant a lot to us.” He paused, took a breath, felt an uneasy ache in the middle of his chest. “And to me.”
She nodded. “I wish I could have done more.”
“If yours was the last face he saw before he passed away,” Brant said quietly, “then I’m sure he would have died with peace in his heart. So, thank you.”
“He was a nice man and I cared about him a great deal.” She met his gaze, unwavering. “But anything I did...I did for you.”
The sensation in his chest amplified and he swallowed hard. God, she undid him with just a few words. He got up and grabbed the helmet. “I know that. Goodbye, Lucy.”
She was frowning. “Should you be biking in this weather?”
Brant looked at the snow still coming down. “I’ll be careful.”
He got to the steps and then turned. She was still sitting, still looking lost and lovely. His heart thundered in his chest. “You know, I did hear you the other night. Everything you said...you were right to say it. The thing is, I came back to Cedar River to try and forget what happened in Afghanistan. But most days, I still feel as though I’m back on that ridge, back dodging bullets and back hearing the screams of men who died so I could live. And knowing the only reason it turned out that way is because I had an aptitude for learning another language. If I’d been good at math instead, things would have turned out very different. So, when it’s two in the morning and I can’t do anything other than stare at the ceiling instead of sleeping, or when my dreams are so bad I wake myself up screaming, I think about how a high school French class probably saved my life.”
She stared at him. Through him. Into the very depths of his blood and bones and then further still, right into his soul. No one else had ever done that. No one ever would.
When she spoke again he could barely stand to hear the words. “Part of me wants to wish you and your guilt a long and happy life together. But I can’t...because that would simply be my broken heart talking.” She got to her feet. “I’ll see you at the service on Monday.”
Brant looked at her and every conflicting emotion he had banged around in his head. Part of him longed to take her in his arms, part of him ached for her touch. “Thanks again...for everything.”
She nodded. “Sure. Goodbye.”
Brant watched as she turned, walked into the house and closed the door. Lights flicked on and her silhouette passed by the window, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by an inexplicable urge to knock on her door to beg her to let him stay the night. But then she’d witness his truth—the insomnia, the pacing at two o’clock in the morning, the dampness on his face when he jackknifed out of bed in the middle of a nightmare. He’d tried medication and all it did was dull his senses. Alcohol left him hung over and weary for days. The only solution was to ride through it in private. No one needed to witness his anxiety. She already thought he needed a shrink. If she saw him at two in the morning, drenched in sweat, shaking from fear, she’d run a mile. Or worse, she’d stay. Out of pity and concern. And that was worse than not being with her.
It was better this way. For them both.
Brant got through the weekend by working at the tavern and on Monday ran on autopilot during his uncle’s funeral. About eighty people turned up for the service, half of them Joe Parker’s former army buddies. The minister gave a short reading, as did Grady and then Brant, and while most of the military crew went to Rusty’s afterward to celebrate their fallen colleague with a round of beer and shared tales from the war, Brant returned to the ranch with his mother and brother and about twenty close friends, including Lucy.
By the afternoon there were just half a dozen people left, most bailing before the snow came down heavier. Brant sat on the wide veranda, an untouched coffee in his hand. Grady and Brooke were in the kitchen and Marissa was in the playroom with the kids. He spotted Lucy walking across the yard toward the stables. She had on her red coat and it was a stark contrast against the white backdrop of snow. He watched her as she walked, like a vision in red, like a beacon for his weary soul.
A surge of feeling suddenly rose up and hit him squarely in the solar plexus and he couldn’t quite get enough air into his lungs. He didn’t know what to make of it. Or what to think. Only Lucy could do that. No one had ever had such a profound effect on his peace of mind. His body. His heart.
They’d barely spoken all day. Strangely, it was as though they didn’t need to. But during the service he’d felt her behind him and then her small hand had rested on his back. It was all he’d needed to get through the moment. And she’d known that, wordlessly. Because she knew him better than anyone.
He watched her as she walked around alone, moving in circles, almost as though she was so deep in thought she didn’t care where she ended up.
“Do you remember what I said to you a few weeks back?”
His mother’s voice made him turn his head for a moment. Sometimes his mom had the stealth of a jungle cat. “What?”
“That she would be a good match for you,” Colleen reminded him, inclining her head toward Lucy. “I still believe it.”
“Not today Mom, okay?”
“Did you know that your dad was terrified of enclosed spaces and had night terrors?”
Brant snapped his gaze around. “What do you mean?”
“He fell down a mine shaft when he was eight years old. He was trapped there for two days. He used to wake up screaming some nights. Knowing he had fears, flaws...it didn’t make me love him any less.”
Brant’s stomach dropped. “Mom, don’t.”
“The fact that he could admit it,” she said pointedly. “That’s what made him strong. And a better man for it. And it made me love him even more.”
Brant watched Lucy wander by the stables as his mother spoke. He resisted the urge to join her, to hold her steady as she trudged over the thin blanket of snow, to keep her safe.
I’ve pretty much been in love with you since I was fifteen years old...
Lucy’s words echoed in his head and then lodged in his chest. No one had ever uttered those words to him before...and certainly not with such heartbreaking honesty. But Lucy was always honest.
Right from the start she’d told him the truth. Right from the start she’d had a way of making him think and feel when he’d believed himself too numb to feel anything. The way she’d opened up about her own past had switched something on inside him. She had demons...regrets...but she’d forged ahead, carving out a successful career and becoming a kind, compassionate and considerate person. The best person he’d ever known. And she’d shared a part of herself with him so earnestly...so honestly. It wasn’t just sex. Being with Lucy was like nothing he’d experienced before. Making love to her, feeling her touch, watching her come apart in his arms, was both spiritual and physical. The perfect moment. The perfect feeling. She was perfect.
“I know you were incredibly close to your uncle,” his mother said quietly. “But don’t go down the same lonely road that he did. When Joe came back from the war without one of his legs he thought he was somehow defined by that...so he never allowed himself to have a serious relationship with anyone. He never fell in love. He never had a family of his own. And I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”
“It won’t, Mom,” he assured her. “I’m not an amputee for one—”
“Some wounds are on the outside, some are on the inside,” she said with emphasis.
“She’s right.”
Grady’s voice snapped his head around. His brother came up behind them and stood to Brant’s left. Flanked by his mother and brother, he felt like he was suddenly in the center of an intervention. And in that moment all he wanted to do was to head down the stairs and find solace with Lucy. Looking at her walking through the snow alone made his insides ache. And the only thing that would appease that ache would be to be by her side...by sitting on the couch holding hands or watching football over cold pizza and beer. By kissing her beautiful mouth. By making love with her and feeling the tenderness of her touch. She was the tonic he needed. She was all he needed.
Brant stilled and every muscle in his body tightened.
He really needed her.
When he’d convinced himself he didn’t need anything or anyone. Only solitude and time to dilute the pain and guilt that some days seemed etched into his very soul. And yet, Lucy knew that. She knew that and still wanted him. Still loved him. Because she was strong and courageous. She’d traveled her own road, recovering from the grief of losing her mother so tragically, and still found the strength and fortitude to allow someone into her heart. To allow him into her heart...even though he’d pushed her away again and again.
And he knew why.
Because he was scared. Terrified that he wouldn’t measure up, that she’d think him weak, unworthy. That she would see him at his worst and still stay...out of loyalty. And pity. And that would be unbearable. He didn’t want her sympathy. He didn’t want her thinking she needed to fix him. He wanted to meet her head-on. Without fear.
Because...
Because he was in love with her. Wholly and completely.
Lucy Monero held every part of his heart and body and soul.
He watched her, a breathtaking vision in her red coat, her head bent and her beautiful hair spilling out from beneath her hat. No one could ever come close. No one ever would.
Brant looked at his mother and then at Grady, and finally let out a long breath before speaking the words that were in his heart. “I’m in love with Lucy.”
Grady laughed softly and his mother squeezed his arm. “Yes, we know,” she said.
“The thing is,” his brother said, still smiling, “what are you going to do about it?”
Brant looked toward the stables, watched her as she walked, his heart and mind filling with a kind of peace he’d never know before. “I’m going to ask her if she’ll have me.”
And he knew just how to do that.
* * *
Lucy was glad to be back at work. It was two days after Joe Parker’s funeral and she was trying to get her life back into some kind of bearable rhythm. The hospital was busier than usual for a Wednesday, and since Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, there seemed to be an increase in the number of tourists coming into the ER with everything from stomach bugs to blisters. Lucy put on her best smile and spent the first few hours of her shift in Triage.
And she tried to not think about her broken heart.
It wasn’t easy. Everything reminded her of Brant. Every time she walked into the ER she remembered him the afternoon his uncle had been brought in so many weeks ago, and how she’d quickly found herself in his relieved embrace. She couldn’t walk through the front foyer without remembering how he’d brought her dinner on Thanksgiving. And at home the memories were even more intense. Sitting on the couch drinking beer and eating pizza, watching a silly football game together, making love as though there were no other people on earth. Everything reminded her of Brant. And her dreams offered no respite. He filled them, consumed them, and each morning she woke lethargic and with a heavy heart.
Kayla stopped by with lattes at lunchtime on Wednesday and Brooke called her after lunch to ensure she was okay. Ash came in around two o’clock to question a young man who’d been in a minor vehicular accident and had whiplash. She stayed to chat for a few minutes and Lucy tried to appear to be her usual happy self. She knew what her friends were doing and loved them for it...but mostly, she just wanted to be left alone.
There was nothing anyone could say or do to ease the ache in her heart and she didn’t want to burden her friends with her unhappy mood. She’d get over it in her own time. Once she stopped thinking about Brant. And dreaming about him. Only then would she stop loving him.
She’d considered calling him several times in the past couple of days, but every time she grabbed her cell phone she simply stared at the screen. They had nothing to say to one another and no words were necessary. She knew how he felt. He couldn’t give her what she wanted and she couldn’t settle for anything less.
I just need some time to get over him.
But as she thought the words she didn’t really believe them.
By three o’clock the flow of patients into the ER had eased. Lucy was about to make a final walk around the ward before she prepared to go home when she was paged. She answered the call and was asked to go down to the main reception area as there was someone waiting to see her. Thinking it was one of her friends again, Lucy grabbed her white coat and slipped it on before she headed out through Triage and toward the front of the building. When she stepped out of the elevator she took a left turn and stopped in her tracks, suddenly poleaxed.
There were several people walking through the foyer, but she only saw one.
Brant...
He stood by the small bench seat where they had shared dinner from a basket and drank sodas. But this time he was dressed immaculately in a tuxedo and shiny black shoes and he carried a small, clear box with a flower inside.
Lucy stared at him, mesmerized. He looked so good. So handsome. His blue eyes glittered an
d his dark hair shone beneath the bright overhead lights. He didn’t move and Lucy somehow found the strength to take a few steps toward him. Suddenly she didn’t see anyone else or hear anyone else in the room. Only him.
Finally, he held out the small box and spoke.
“I just want you to know,” he said, his deep voice like silk, “that you will always have a date for the prom.”
Lucy’s breath caught and tears instantly heated her eyes.
It was the single most beautiful, romantic moment of her life.
She wanted to race into his arms. But she held back. That had a lot to talk about. A lot to think about.
“Is...is that for me?” she asked.
He nodded. “Everything is for you, Lucia.”
Lucy experienced an acute sense of joy and stepped a little closer. He was in front of her, dressed in a suit and holding a corsage, with his heart on his sleeve and no walls between them. And in that moment she had never loved him more.
“Brant...” Her words trailed off as emotion clogged her throat.
“Lucy,” he said softly and held out his hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
She nodded, took his hand and walked away from reception and up the corridor. There were several empty offices and she tapped on one of the doors and entered. If anyone walked by she didn’t notice. She saw only him. She didn’t care if anyone wondered why the most gorgeous man on the planet was doing with a harried-looking doctor wearing scrubs and a white coat.
The room was a small and perfunctory—typical of any administration office, with a desk, filing cabinet and two chairs. She closed the door and turned to face him. He held out the box again. She took it with trembling hands and looked at the perfect orchid corsage. “It’s beautiful.”
He held her hand tightly and nodded. “Shall we sit down?”
Lucy sat in one of the chairs and waited while he pulled the other one close. As soon as he sat he grabbed her free hand and spoke. “I know I’ve repeatedly screwed things up from the start. I know I’ve behaved badly. I know I’ve pushed you away time and time again. And I know I have no right to ask this of you...but I’m asking without any agenda, without any notion that I deserve it...but would you give me another chance?”
